I can’t touch her.
I can’t fucking protect her.
“I found out this morning,” Julij says, his words distorted as if coming through bulletproof glass. “I don’t have much information yet.”
“Get the man a drink,” the authoritative voice says again.
Spades squeezes my arm for the second time today, pushing me toward the living room. I inhale a sharp breath, grit my teeth, and force my legs to move and my head to snap out of the trance. I collapse on a sofa, my hands shaking, chest tight enough to fucking choke me.
“Drink.” The dark-haired man hands me a glass of whiskey.
Instead of drying it in one go to calm my nerves, I set it aside on the side table. No way I’ll take that road. It’d numb my chaotic mind, but I can’t afford to lose focus. “And you are...?”
“My name is Anatolij Aristow.” He takes a seat on the opposite sofa. “I’m Julij’s uncle.”
Ah, the infamous Anatolij Aristow. The name doesn’t explain the strange familiarity I feel towards him. I’ve never met the man but can’t shake the feeling that I know him from somewhere. He’s the complete opposite of Julij and Nikolaj. Broader, coarser, and much more sophisticated. I imagined him to be older, but he looks in his late thirties at the most.
“Who the fuck ordered the hit?” I glare at Julij.
“Obviously, I thought it was you until you made it clear just now that you didn’t even know about the job.”
I pull a packet of Marlboro out of the inside pocket and pinch the filter between my teeth, lighting it up. Dimitri sets an ashtray on the coffee table while Spades sits beside me, the glass of whiskey I refused to drink now in his hand.
“So, there’s a hit, but no principal?” he asks, resting his elbows casually on his knees. It’s just a front, though.
I know Spades as I know myself. He’s fuming. Delirious with the need to find a kill whoever ordered the hit.
“Oh, there is. At least I think it’s him. Or was, actually.” Julij shakes his head in disbelief, pinning me with his rude, forceful stare. “Remember when I told you Frank’s on the lookout for a hitman last time you were in New York?” He waits for me to nod. “I thought he wanted someone to killyou, but it looks like he tried to find someone to kill Layla.”
Everything I had for breakfast climbs back up my esophagus, bitter bile pooling at the back of my throat. Jesus, just hearingkill Laylahas me on the verge of spontaneously combusting.
I can’t believe the fucker. He sure deserved the bullet Layla put through his heart. Ordering a hit on his own daughter? How deranged; how bent on revenge was he to revert to murdering his only child? The hit was the one element of Frank’s plan that made no sense back then.
Now, it makes too much sense.
“Frank ordered a hit on his own daughter?” Spades asks, his tone filled with disgust and disbelief as he can’t comprehend what I already understood. “He was one cruel motherfucker, but he was her father... it makes no sense.”
I exhale a cloud of smoke. “It does.”
Frank’s plan was methodically crafted to perfection. Layla herself was my dream come true. I spent thirteen days and nights analyzing the last few months, and other than the supposed hitman Frank wanted to hire, I found nothing that couldn’t be easily explained. But that hitman... what a baffling idea. He wanted Layla to kill me, so why hire a professional?
Sohe’d kill her if the plan fell apart, as is always the risk in our line of work. So he’d kill the one person I cared about. Everyone knew Layla was my sole weakness. Even Frankie.
EspeciallyFrankie.
Without Layla, even if Chicago fell into my hands, even if I rose to the top of the game, I’d have nothing. My life is fucking worthless without her in it. Unlivable. Because I’ve not been living the past thirteen days. Merely surviving.
“I’m taking away what you hold dearest.”
Those are the words he spoke that night. He was one hundred percent sure Layla would kill me; he meant more to her than me, but he insured himself, nonetheless.
“I doubt he thought Layla would shoot him; otherwise, he wouldn’t have given her the gun, but Frankie always had a backup plan in case things turned to hell.” Julij sits beside his uncle, mimicking Spades’ position with elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward. “He had to consider a margin of error in his plan. It’d take a tiny slip-up to turn the tables. I guess that’s why he ordered the hit. “He wanted to make sure that even if he’d be the one to die, you’d still lose her.”
There it is again. The jab of fear. The violent hollowness in my stomach at the mere thought of anything happening to her. I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to recall the moment my borderline obsession began. I wasn’t like this from the start. But I was already like this before she ran. Somewhere along the way, the rational part of my brain left, and I don’t remember what triggered the response.
And I have to. I can’t go on for long, acting bat-shit crazy.
“We’ve got the principal. Who’s the hitman?” Spades asks.